


The Time We Have Together

by al0neprotectsme



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cancer, M/M, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/al0neprotectsme/pseuds/al0neprotectsme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock never imagined the life they have. Together they are the happiest they could be. Never would they imagine life without the other.</p>
<p>That is, until the day Sherlock is diagnosed with Stage 3 lung cancer. </p>
<p>Now they have to decide; What do we do with our time left?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Pain in the Ass

Sherlock wanted nothing more than to be back at the flat sprawled across the couch, tea in hand, and John laying on his chest. Mycroft was like a pissed off bee. Nonstop chat and cruel words shot in Sherlocks direction. Usually Sherlock loved going to the crime scene, at least, when John was with him. Instead, John decided to stay at home and do some chores and blogging. This left Sherlock by himself with Mycroft.

"Mycroft not to be rude, but you are a pain in my ass." he snapped, his body bent over the corpse laying on the ground. Behind him, Mycroft stood cockily, his face twisted into a scowl. "Sherlock, while I greatly appreciate your opinion of me, as your older brother I'm supposed to be a pain in your ass." he retorted. Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes, "As my older brother you should be treating me more kindly. You need to, as they say, guide me." 

Mycroft ignored him, instead he turned his attention to the police milling around. "Sherlock likes to think he's a know-it-all. Seems to know everything about everyone." Mycroft bellowed, making Sherlocks blood boil. He stood up straight, somewhat stiff, and removed his gloves. "I will no longer offer you my assistance, Mycroft." 

Before Mycroft could protest, Sherlock threw his gloves at him and stormed out of the door. "Sherlock! Get back here! I didn't tell you you could leave!" Mycroft screamed. Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and headed out into the cool, rainy afternoon. 

\--------------------------

"You told your brother he was a pain in the ass?" John later asked when Sherlock got home. John was in his usual position, curled into the small chair by the fireplace, laptop in his lap. Sherlock smirked, "I did." John laughed, throwing his head back with the force of the laugh. "Have I told you that I bloody love you?" John asked as his laughter subsided.   
Sherlock smiled and walked over to John, wrapping his arms around his neck. "Have I told you I love you too?" he murmured, softly kissing the back of Johns neck. John sighed and grabbed one of Sherlocks hands, his skin soft and cool. 

"We should go out later." John blurted as Sherlock nuzzled his chin into Johns shoulder. Sherlock smiled, "Alright. Where?" John was surprised Sherlock agreed, yet he was also glad. "What about we go get dinner then come home and watch a film?" John suggested, turning his head to look at Sherlocks features. Sherlock cocked his head to the side, staring right back at John. "Sounds great to me."


	2. Don't You Worry About Me

They stumbled into the flat around 2 am. Johns head spun and he felt light and giddy. Sherlock was less affected by the large amounts of alcohol they had consumed earlier, yet he felt just the same. "Next time," John started, "Don't let me drink so much." Sherlock smiled and fell back onto the couch, "I like you when you're drunk. You're more relaxed."

John laughed and fell beside him. "Alcohol makes you less of an ass." he blurted, making Sherlock laugh as well, "Great to know." Johns smile grew as he lazily tugged his shoes off. Sherlock did the same, tossing the last shoe off as John fell back into the cushions

"Come 'ere." Sherlock murmured, leaning back and patting his thigh. John blushed, but obeyed. He straddled Sherlock less gracefully than usual. Sherlock smirked and let his fingers dig into the soft skin of Johns hips as John wrapped his arms around Sherlocks neck. 

"I missed you today." Sherlock blurted, words slurring from the alcohols effects. John felt his cheeks burn even more. "I thought you liked solving murders without me." John retorted, fingers playing with stray ringlets at the top of Sherlocks neck. The taller male sighed and pulled John into his somewhat bony chest. "I usually do but today I just wanted to be here with you."

John sighed and nuzzled his face into the crook of Sherlocks neck. He felt at home, he felt safe, and mostly he felt at peace. "Well you're home now, let's enjoy our time together, yeah?" John whispered. Johns breath sent shivers racing through Sherlocks body and goosebumps across his skin. Sure, what he said wasn't exactly sexy, but it was sweet. Besides, it wasn't all Johns words that had that affect on him. "Yes, that sounds perfect." he murmured as he wrapped his arms around John tighter.

\------------------

When Sherlock woke up the next morning, there was a sharp pain in his chest every time he took a breath. He tried to take shallower breaths, resulting in a severe coughing fit. The coughs were so violent it caused him to double over on himself.

John was awoken by the shaking of the bed. At first he thought Sherlock was jumping around in an attempt to wake him up. Once he turned over, however, his body surged with adrenaline and he jumped into doctor mode.

"Sherlock! I need you to take deep breaths, okay? Why are you coughing? Are you choking? Shit, I told you to quit smoking, dammit." John ranted as he reached for Sherlock. Sherlock smacked Johns hands away. "In-inhaler." he managed to wheeze out. He pointed towards his sock drawer, letting his hand fall once John turned his attention to it.

"Okay, yeah, I'll get it." John mumbled as he scrambled off the bed. Sherlock lay on the bed as John scrambled for the inhaler, his body still desperately gasping for air. John fumbled with the inhaler before tossing it over onto the bed.

Sherlocks pale fingers tightly grasped the small, plastic body and placed it slightly past his lips. The hiss of the medicine racing into Sherlocks lungs made John relax slightly. It wasn't until Sherlock was breathing again more normally that John let himself fully relax.

"Are you ill? Is that why you were just coughing like a maniac?" John asked as he sank back down onto the bed. Sherlock sighed and placed the orange inhaler on the side table, "It's pneumonia, nothing to worry about." John snapped his head towards Sherlock, worry, fear, and anger boiling his blood. "Nothing to worry about? God dammit Sherlock I thought you were going to die you could barely breathe!" John shouted. The sudden increased volume of Johns voice seemed to have no affect on Sherlock.

"John, like I said, it's just pneumonia. It's not cancer." Sherlock calmly replied, his voice hoarse from the previous coughing fit. John shook his head, "I can't believe you're not more concerned." He didn't want to shout, he knew stress didn't do anything good for illness, but he was, well, overly concerned. "John, love, it's nothing I can't handle." Sherlock murmured, softly placing his palm against Johns cheek.

John nuzzled his face deeper into the cool skin of Sherlocks palm. He let his eyes trace over Sherlocks features before stopping at Sherlocks eyes. John sighed, even though it sounds cheesy, John swears over and over he could easily lose himself in his eyes. The icy blue flecked with pale olive green and hints of gold reminded him of the ocean.

"I love you, John, but I need you to not worry about me." Sherlock murmured, enveloping Johns face in his hands. His skin was warm, warmer than his own. As he stared intently into Johns eyes, the heat seemed to wash over him. "Promise me you won't worry." he whispered, thumbs softly stroking the skin of Johns cheeks.

Stubble tickled his fingertips, a familiar and welcome feeling. John finally sighed and let his eyes drop. "I promise." John sighed. Sherlock took a deep breath of relief, his whole body slumping as he let the breath out in a single huff. "Thank you." he sighed, pulling John into his chest.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlocks torso and let himself relax. Thankfully Sherlock believed him, he needed that. Despite the fact Sherlock didn't want him to worry, deep down he must know John would. Love does that to people, it makes them worry 24/7, even if it's a stupid reason. This time, however, John knew there was a real reason to worry.


	3. Never Better

John would not let Sherlock leave the bed for the rest of the day. At one point he even threatened to duct tape Sherlock to the bed if that meant he wouldn't leave the flat. Sherlock simply chuckled and promised he would remain in the living room. Sherlock would give John his day of worrying, he deserved that. Especially since the cough attack that morning left him weak and short of breath the rest of the day.

Around noon, John ran to the store, leaving Sherlock to his own devices. John was surprised when he came back, finding Sherlock in the exact same spot he was in when he left. "Did you get the movie I asked for?" Sherlock asked as soon as John stepped across the threshold. John smiled and help up the plastic case. "I also got popcorn." John told him, making Sherlock smile. "Thank you, dear." he replied, turning his attention away from the television.

John gave Sherlock a small smile as he placed the plastic bags on the counters. "You like ice-cream, correct?" he asked, taking out a small tub of the creamy treat. Sherlock stood off the couch and sauntered into the kitchen. "Depends," Sherlock started, grabbing the cold tub. "Is it chocolate?" John chuckled, "Yes, it's chocolate. I ought to know what you're favorite flavor is." Sherlock gave John a cocky grin, "You better know my favorites." he joked as he stooped down and gently kissed his cheek. 

John gave him a small shove, "Go rest, I'll be there in a minute." Sherlock rolled his eyes and shuffled back to his chair. John finished putting the groceries away before plopping down in the chair across from Sherlock. Sherlock turned his attention to John and kicked his legs out. He slid down in his chair so his legs would reach the other man slumped in the chair.

"Hey, John." he hissed, poking Johns leg with his foot. John bit back his smile as he ignored him. Sherlock poked him again, "John, pay attention to me." John swallowed his smile and turned to face Sherlock, "What do you want?" he asked, voice soft. Sherlock smiled and pulled his knees into this chest, "Pay attention to me." 

John rolled his eyes, "You want me to pay attention to you?" he jeered in a playful manner. Sherlocks features twisted as his brain chewed over the question. Before John could ask Sherlock for the answer, he was in Johns lap, long limbs awkwardly wrapping around John. "Dammit, Sherlock! You'll squish me!" he cursed, hands desperately trying to push him away.

Sherlock laughed and stood up before scooping John into his arms. John smiled as he wrapped his legs around Sherlocks hips, arms around the back of his neck. Sherlock smiled, blue eyes locked onto Johns warm slate ones. He softly placed Johns back onto the couch cushions before laying his head onto his chest.

Even though the position was slightly awkward, seeing as Sherlocks legs were dangling off the end of the couch, it was familiar and warm and comfortable. Johns heartbeat was slightly erratic, his heart beating faster than usual. "Do I do that to you?" Sherlock asked, fingers lightly tracing shapes into his side. John chuckled, "Of course, who else would do that?" Sherlock smiled, feeling content, "I dunno, maybe heart disease?" he joked. John laughed loudly, his torso vibrating. "No love, that's all you." John murmured as the laughs subsided, "It's all you."

\---------------------

The next week passed without any problems. Sherlock occasionally needed a hit of the inhaler to level his breathing. John was thankful that Sherlock agreed to stay home and not go investigate any cases. Sherlock agreed he needed the rest, seeing as breathing became difficult as he ran all around London.

Things were great until Sherlock began having pain in his chest. It started off as a slight stabbing pain happening occasionally in the middle of his chest. He contributed it to stress, seeing as he got a new case from Mycroft he was working on. When it didn't go away and grew increasingly painful, Sherlock agreed to see a doctor.

So nearly 3 weeks after the coughing fit, Sherlock reluctantly went to the doctor per Johns orders. 

The doctors office reeked of alcohol and anesthetic. People sniffling, coughing, and children crying grew increasingly annoying the longer Sherlock waited. It was a long 10 minutes before his name was finally called and he was led back into a small, still overly bright, room. John sat in a chair next to the examination table, while Sherlock sat on the cold, rock hard surface. 

"The doctor will be with you in a moment." the nurse told the two. Her voice was shrill and too high pitched for Sherlock to stand. He gave a small smile that was far from sincere. John knew that smile. "Thank you." he replied, giving a more sincere smile. Her thin lips seemed to disappear as she gave a large smile in return.

Once the door was shut, Sherlocks smile disappeared and all his muscles relaxed. John gently smacked Sherlocks arm, "Be nice, Sherlock." he scoffed. Sherlock smirked, "Relax, John. Oh, you know what we could do before the doctor comes back?" he asked, standing up off the table. He took a step towards John, his fingers gently grasping onto Johns jacket. 

John grabbed Sherlocks fingers, pulling them off the fabric. "No Sherlock, sit back down." he snapped. Sherlocks face fell, his expression going cold. "Fine." he retorted. He climbed back up and sat down, pulling his knees instinctively into his chest. 

They remained silent the entire time they waited for the doctor. While it felt like years for the two, in reality it was about 10 minutes. The knock reverberated through the room, drawing both their attentions to the door. "Hello there!" a deep voice called out. The doctor walked in, almost hitting his head on the top of the door frame. 

His dark forest green eyes scanned over the two, locking onto John. "I remember you! You're John Watson!" he exclaimed, placing the manilla file onto the counter. John looked over at Sherlock, his eyes pleading for help. "You don't remember me?" he asked, sitting across from John. John shook his head as his eyes searched over his features, desperate to find something familiar. 

He scoffed and shook his head, "I'm James, James Johansen? I was the head doctor in Afghanistan." John looked over his features again. Flashes of faces, instruments, and gunfire flashed through his head. He suddenly remembered the doctor. 

"Oh, um, sorry. It's nice to see you again." John mumbled, reaching his hand out. Doctor Johansen smiled and grabbed Johns hand in his own. He gave it a single shake before letting go. John looked over at Sherlock who simply gave him a cock of his head, his own little non verbal "I told you so". John glared at Sherlock before both looked back at the doctor.

"Okay Mr. Holmes, how have you been feeling?" Doctor Johansen asked, placing the open folder in his lap. "Violent bouts of coughing, chest pain, coughs are non productive, rather dry actually. Sometimes there's blood." Sherlock replied coldly. Johansen looked concerned as Sherlock rambled about his symptoms. John, however, felt a sudden cold in his stomach. It's so much worse than he let on. 

"Have you had any illnesses lately? Possibly, bronchitis or pneumonia?" Johansen asked. Sherlock gave a stiff nod, "Yes, pneumonia." Johansen's face fell, "We need to get an X-ray as well as a CT scan to get a sure diagnosis, but I may have a hunch." he stated, scribbling orders onto a piece of paper. Johns ears perked up, "And what might that be?" he asked, shaking in anticipation. 

Johansen sighed and shut the folder, "I believe he may have cancer."


	4. It Is What It Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter may or may not be terrible or what some may view as out of character for Sherlock. Bu this is my interpretation if Sherlock was ever to be diagnosed with something like cancer.
> 
> On a side note thank you to all who have read and are reading this!! It means a lot to me that the story is getting so many hits and some kudos and subscribers, so thank you!! If there are any improvements just comment away!

The word cancer hit John like a freight train. It sucked the breath right out of his lungs and sent him reeling. "Cancer?" Sherlock asked, voice unusually quiet. John looked up at Sherlock, his brave little genius. Now Sherlock seemed frightened. His skin was almost translucent, his eyes were filled to the brim with tears, and his hands slightly shook.

John grabbed onto Sherlocks hand tightly, Sherlock weaving their fingers together. Johansen gave them what John calls the 'I'm sorry' face. "A radiologist will be here to come get you. I'll give you a few minutes alone. I'm sorry." he said. His tone was slightly somber, not in the least bit forgiving.

As soon as the door was shut John jumped onto the table and pulled Sherlock into his chest. The tears hit Johns shirt before Sherlocks face was in the crook of his shoulder. It was heart wrenching listening to Sherlock sob. John had never seen Sherlock cry before, if he had, it was nowhere near as bad as this.

"Hey now, hey now, I'm here, I'm gonna take care of you. You took care of me, now it's my turn, yeah?" John gushed, voice no louder than a whisper. Sherlock clutched Johns shirt tightly, the fabric soft and comforting in his fingers. Tears continued to stain Johns shirt soaking into the fabric.

They remained like that for several minutes, only letting go when the radiologist knocked. "I'll be taking you to get the scans. I promise to bring him back as soon as we're done." she told the two as she entered the room. Sherlock gave her a nod before giving John a quick peck on the lips. "I'll be here." John whispered as Sherlock pulled away.  
John waited for around 30 minutes before Sherlock came back. John noticed how exhausted, emotionally and physically, he seemed to look. "You're good to go. We'll call you in a day or two with the results." the radiologist told them. John gave a small smile, "Thank you." he replied.

When she had left the room, Sherlock was back in Johns arms. "Let's get you home, alright?" John mumbled, squeezing Sherlock tight. Sherlock just nodded and followed John.

 

\--------------------

Sherlock did nothing but lay in bed that afternoon. When Mycroft called to ask John how the appointment went and to talk to Sherlock, Sherlock yelled a simple "Fuck you" before rolling back into the covers. John wasn't concerned about Sherlocks behavior. He understood, completely 100% understood.

The next day Sherlock was up before John even bothered to roll out of bed. By the time he did wake up, Sherlock had left the flat. On the fridge was a little post it that said 'Went out for lunch with Mycroft. I'll be back for dinner." John, while relieved he had a day to himself, was also upset. He was looking forward to a day together with Sherlock where both of them were up and ready to talk.

John decided to research cancer all afternoon. Even though they didn't have a solid diagnosis, he wanted to know as much as he could. Since Sherlocks symptoms all came from the chest, he decided to research lung cancer.  
He read every symptom, prognosis, treatment, and chance of being cured on every kind he could find. By the time Sherlock finally came home that evening, he had over 15 pages of research he printed out. "Hey, how was lunch?" John asked as Sherlock shuffled through the door.

All he got in reply was a deep sigh.

John looked up from his laptop to look at Sherlock. His hair looked as though he had tugged on the thick curls repeatedly, his eyes were bloodshot, and nose red and raw. "You didn't go to lunch, did you?" he asked. Sherlock looked up at John, the blue of his eyes a dark sapphire. "No, I didn't." he mumbled, voice hoarse and low.

John sighed, "Where were you then?" Sherlock looked away, deciding to stare at the wall. "The park, a cafe, what's it matter to you?" he snapped. John leaned back in his chair a bit, taken aback by Sherlocks sudden outburst. "Did you get a call? Is that why you're so angry?" John asked, anger filling his voice. Sherlock snapped his head towards John, tears welling up in his eyes.

"I did, and you know what? It's cancer, John. Cancer. From the sounds of it, it isn't a curable kind either. I have to go in for more tests and to 'discuss my options'." Sherlock started, voice becoming more violent as he continued. "You're going to worry about me, I can see it now. You're going to cry everyday, we're going to be stuck in this stupid flat and wasting the time we will have left."  


"And you know, maybe that doesn't seem so bad to you, but I can't just waste away, John. I can't just waste away in this fucking flat while you cry over me!" he screamed. John sat there and let his words sink in. 'So it is cancer.' He thought.

"Look, Sherlock, I don't want you to waste away either. I want us to do so much. But we don't know what we're dealing with yet, so be calm. Just be-" John started. "Be calm!? How can I be calm when I have this illness that could kill me? You know what, leave me be, don't bother talking to me. I'll move out in the morning after I go to the hospital." Sherlock shouted, voice falling quiet at the end.

John opened his mouth to say something, anything. He wanted Sherlock to know he wasn't going to give up, but Sherlock was out of the room. The door slamming rang out through the apartment.

Silence fell over the apartment. It filled every corner, covered every surface, and even filled John. John sat there for awhile. He thought over Sherlocks outburst, the, not so descriptive, diagnosis, and the possibility of being alone later in life. A loud scream suddenly filled the silence, along with a crash of glass.

John jumped off the chair, adrenaline making a quick burst through his veins. He raced the the bedroom and threw open the door to find Sherlock in a heap on the floor. "Sherlock? You okay?" John asked, rushing to his side.

John reached out to touch his shoulder gently, but Sherlock shoved him away. John fell back and landed on his ass. "Sherlock, let me comfort you, dammit!" John cursed, crawling back over to him. Sherlock looked up at John with a childlike fear and innocence. He slowly pushed himself up until he was sitting up straight.  


John gave him a small smile, "There you go, love. There you go. No need to cry, alright? I'm here, I'm here." he gushed, reaching forward and cupping Sherlocks face in his hands. Tears continued to fall, wetting Johns skin and leaving salty trails. Sherlock grabbed one of Johns hands in his, clutching to it as if his life depended on him hanging on.

John brought his head forward, letting his cool forehead onto Sherlocks unusually warm one. Sherlocks eyes shut in contentment, a single tear rolling down his cheek. John wiped it away with his thumb, the drop rolling down onto the back of his hand. "You okay?" he whispered, gently stroking Sherlocks cheek.

Sherlock gave a little weak nod. "I'm just scared." he mumbled, looking down at the floor. John sighed and pulled him into a tight embrace. Sherlocks arms wrapped tightly around Johns torso as John hooked his arms around Sherlocks neck. "Sherlock Holmes scared? Be brave, I'll be scared for you." he murmured, his voice tickling the skin on Sherlocks neck. Sherlock smiled and sighed, maybe in the end it wouldn't be so bad after all.


	5. Patiently Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the sucky title. Couldn't think of anything else.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, again!! It's so amazing to see the sheer number of people reading this. And especially those who enjoy it!

Sherlock reluctantly allowed John to accompany him to the hospital. The cab ride was silent. Sherlock stared out the window and tried to act calm and collected, but finally he couldn't hold it completely together and grabbed Johns hand in his.

John was somewhat surprised, he knew Sherlock wasn't the biggest fan of PDA. But today was different, he knew Sherlock needed support. The idea of death would scare anyone shitless.

When they arrived, Sherlock took a deep breath, let go of Johns hand, and straightened his posture. "I can't let anyone know how frightened I am." he whispered to John as they walked up to the automatic doors. John gave his back a light pat, "I know, no need to tell me." Sherlock looked at him from the corner of his eye and gave a slight smile.

Surprisingly, it wasn't the sounds of crying children and the annoying chatter of people that overstimulated Sherlock. It was the fact he had to get multiple tests done, especially the one that required being stabbed with a needle. Sherlock had to get an MRI then a PET scan followed by a needle biopsy if masses were found. The idea of a needle being inserted into his chest made Sherlock grimace, but he knew it needed to be done.

A nurse led them to an examination room and handed Sherlock a paper-like robe. "All clothes must be removed. You can keep your underwear on though, if you'd prefer." she said as she placed it gently into his hands. Sherlock gave her a slight smile, "Thank you." he replied. The nurse smiled and walked out, shutting the door behind her.

John sat down on the examination table and stared at Sherlock intently. Sherlock smirked and turned around, his back now to John. "Are you going to be all serious, or are you going to try and make light of the situation?" John asked, leaning against the wall. Sherlock turned his head so he could see John out of the corner of his eye, "I'm trying to be serious. It's a little hard with you staring at me like you're waiting for something." he replied somewhat playfully. 

John chuckled and covered his eyes, "Alright, I'm not looking." Sherlock turned and looked, laughing at Johns childlike behavior. He shook his head and began unbuttoning his shirt. He let the silky fabric fall to the floor, a shiver racing up his spine as the cool air hit his skin. 

From behind his hands, John separated his fingers, catching a peek of the pale, muscular expanse of his back. "Have I told you, you have absolutely beautiful skin?" John asked. Sherlock shook his head, "You can be so cheesy and odd sometimes." John laughed, "I can be, but you make me this way."

Sherlock laughed as he tossed his pants onto the chair. Now the chill of the hospital finally took full effect. He quickly slid the robe on and raced over to John. "Tie it, please." Sherlock said, turning around so the open slit of the robe faced John.

John grabbed the little ties at the top, his fingers quickly tying it in a loose knot. "There you go." he said, giving Sherlock three quick pats on the back. Sherlock turned around and smiled, "Thank you." John returned the smile, "You're welcome." 

The nurse came back a few minutes later, file in hand. "Mr. Holmes, follow me please. Mr. Watson, he'll be back in about 20 minutes." she told the two as she entered the room. Sherlock gave John a little curl of the corner of his mouth, the smallest hint of a smile. John returned the smile, followed by a slap on the ass as Sherlock followed the nurse out the door.

John played around on his phone while he waited for Sherlock to come back. He received a text from Lestrade and Molly, while he got an unwanted call from Mycroft. "What do you want?" John snapped as he placed the phone up to his ear. On the other line, Mycroft scoffed, "I'm simply checking on my little brother. Where is he?" 

John rolled his eyes, "He's getting an MRI and PET then possibly a needle biopsy. Why do you care?" Mycroft sighed, "It may not seem like it, but I do love him, John. Never as much as you do, I know that. But I do care about him. He's family." John listened carefully, heart softening a little at Mycrofts confession.

"He'll be okay for now. I'm holding out hope it's nothing terminal." John replied. Mycroft was silent on the other end. "You there?" John asked a minute later. "Yes, yes I'm here. I'm sorry, John. Give him my best wishes." Mycroft mumbled before hanging up suddenly. John pulled the phone away from his ear, a quizzical look gracing his face. 

John shook his head and put his phone back into his pocket just as Sherlock walked back in. "Hey, babe. How'd it go?" John asked, standing up out of the chair. Sherlock gave him a somber look, no words coming from his lips. Johns heart fell, "I-it's not good...?" Sherlock looked down and shook his head.

Before John could say anything else, a doctor entered the room without knocking. "Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson, we're going to have to go ahead and do the biopsy." Sherlock took a deep breath, "How many masses are there that caused this decision?" he asked, turning to face the doctor. The doctor sighed, "There's at least 2. We need to know if it's benign or malignant. So we need to go ahead and get the biopsy out of the way. The sooner we can officially diagnose you, the sooner we can get you treatment. So follow me." he replied, tone becoming urgent and irritated near the end.

Sherlock sighed and turned his head to John, "I'll be back soon." he mumbled. John sighed deeply, "Alright." Sherlock mouthed an apology before following the doctor back down the hall. When John was alone and the door was shut, he allowed himself to break down. He let the tears fall freely, but kept the noises to a minimum. He didn't want anyone knowing just how scared and fragile he was.

 


	6. You Deserve More

Sherlock came back an hour later, a pained expression on his face. Neither a doctor or a nurse came inside, they simply ushered him back. "How bad was it?" John asked as the door shut behind Sherlock. Sherlock shrugged, sending a stabbing pain through his chest.. "It wasn't pleasant, I'll tell you that." he replied, his voice weak. John bit his lip and looked at the floor, "I guess it wouldn't be." he mumbled.

Sherlock looked at John. He noticed the pale tone his skin seemed to have under the fluorescent lights, the way his hair was disheveled, how red the tip of his nose was, and how his eyes seemed puffy and swollen. "You were crying. By the looks of it for a long while too." Sherlock blurted. John looked up at Sherlock, "Yeah, I was. Why does it matter?" John snapped. 

Sherlocks eyes narrowed, "Why in the hell are you crying? You have no reason to." John exhaled a sharp huff of breath, "Excuse me? Sherlock, we have been over this. I can be upset if I want to, you could be dying for gods sakes. It's not easy seeing the person you love getting sick with the possibility of dying." 

Sherlock shook his head and turned away, "John, I told you not to worry. Why are you so stubborn?" he mumbled. The words hit John like a punch in the face. "Me? Stubborn? What the hell are you talking about Sherlock?! I can worry, I can worry all I would like! I love you so fucking much and you can't see that because you're hiding behind this haze of 'if I detach myself now it'll be easier for him'. "

"But you're so wrong, you're so wrong. Detach yourself now and you'll only hurt yourself more. You hurt me more, Sherlock. Don't do this. Let me be upset for now, alright? Just don't separate yourself from me now, please." John begged, voice louder than he meant to be. Sherlock turned around to face John. John could sense his emotions were out of control at this point. It was out of character.

"I just don't want to hurt you. You don't deserve to be hurt, John. You deserve more than I can give you now." he mumbled, words choked off by sobs threatening to escape. John shook his head and stepped towards Sherlock, his warm grey eyes locking onto Sherlocks cool blue ones. "Don't say I deserve more. I have what I deserve. I would have left you already if I didn't deserve you." John replied, making a small smile curl at the corners of Sherlocks mouth.

John smiled and closed the rest of the space between them, gently resting his hands on Sherlocks chest. Sherlock sighed and gently grabbed Johns waist, pulling him even closer. "Promise me you won't leave? No matter how hard times get?" Sherlock whispered, leaning down so his cheek was pressed against Johns forehead. John nodded, "Of course." Sherlock shut his eyes and sighed, a smile finally gracing his face. "Good, because I'll need you on this adventure. You think you're ready?" he asked, pulling back.

John smiled and nodded, "Oh god, yes."

 


	7. All It Takes Is One Call to Change Your Life

The next week was spent waiting for the phone call announcing Sherlocks fate. They left the house only to go to the store, once to go out to dinner. Sherlock spoke non-stop to John, an unusual but welcome change to his behavior. Just to shut him up, John would kiss him. Which meant kissing would move on to something more. That week they acted like horny teenage boys.

It was exactly one week later when Sherlocks phone rang, the number of the hospital flashing across the screen. It took several barely relaxing deep breaths to give Sherlock the strength to answer the phone. He answered with a simple 'Mr. Holmes speaking'. The rest of the phone call was silent. 

John knew the phone call ended by the clatter of the phone dropping onto the floor.  
He raced into the kitchen to find Sherlock bent over the counter attempting to breathe normally. His entire body shook, his lungs gasped for air, and tears were puddling on the counter. John ran over to Sherlock and pulled him into his arms just as Sherlock almost fell to the floor.

John refused to say anything. He held onto Sherlock as tightly as he could. He feared any space would cancel any efforts of comfort he offered. 

Sherlock just held on tightly to John as tightly as possible. His face was smashed against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around his torso. Like the time they first found out about what he could have been ill with, Sherlock was completely soaking his shirt. It was almost comical thinking about how many shirts may be soaked in tears by the time this ordeal was over.

30 minutes later Sherlock was done sobbing. He was thankful for John. He was thankful for the comfort, the company, and especially the love John provided for him. 

"Th-thank you." Sherlock stammered, peeling his face from Johns chest. John pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, "No need to thank me." he mumbled against the cool skin of Sherlocks forehead. Sherlock pulled back until he sitting up by himself. He grabbed Johns hands, his large palms enveloping John smaller ones. 

"Do you want to know what they told me?" Sherlock asked, eyes dropping to look at his hands. John nodded, "Yes, I need to know." he replied. Sherlock sighed and collected his thoughts before opening his mouth to speak. "Stage 3 squamous cell carcinoma. It's already spread from the bronchi up near my esophagus. They want me to come in to tell me a more accurate prognosis, tomorrow. But for now, they say I only have 13 months left if I have treatment. Rough estimate though."

13 months. 390 days. That's all that was left if they were lucky.

"That... That seems too soon." John barely managed to choke out. Sherlock chuckled, "Tell me about it. That's only about 390 days, John. We need to plan everyday out. Nothing boring or cheesy though. Fun things." John smiled at how amazing Sherlock was taking the news. He was trying to make the best of the situation.

"Fun things everyday for 390 days. I guess we could go a head and plan. Or we could go with the flow." John replied, taking his hands out of Sherlocks. John lifted his hand, running it through the thick, dark curls that lay messily on Sherlocks head. Sherlock sighed and pressed into Johns touch. John didn't need to hear Sherlocks agreement to going with the flow. He knew he would agree with him anyway.

"So starting on Thursday we go with the flow? Do whatever we think is fun?" Sherlock asked, staring at John intently. John smiled and nodded, "Yes, but I do have plans on Thursday for us. So make it Friday." Sherlock laughed, his head tilting back. The laughter rang through the kitchen, wiping away all the sadness that had settled like dust throughout the flat. "Alright my little sneak. Friday we do whatever we want. Thursday we have dinner." 

John smiled and nodded, "Thursday we have a fancy dinner that I need to go ahead and go get things ready for." he replied, letting his hand fall from Sherlocks curls. He pushed himself off the ground, leaving a confused Sherlock. "Where exactly are you going?" he asked, looking up at John with wide eyes. John leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, "I'll see you later." 

Sherlock let out a high-pitched whine, "Why are you leaving me here?" John slid his jacket on his shoulders before placing his phone in his pocket. "I'll call you when I'm on my way home. Don't commit homicide while I'm gone!" he joked as he headed out the door. 

\---------------

Sherlock sprawled across Johns chair while he waited. His legs hung off one side, while he let his head hang down on the other side. He turned on the television, letting a woman reporters voice fill the flat with the sound. He kicked his legs like a child, his feet knocking over 2 glasses in the process.

When John came back later, he rushed to the bedroom without saying a hello. A few minutes later he came back out, a smile spread across his face. "Dinner is all set and ready for Thursday." he exclaimed as he headed over to where Sherlock lay. Sherlock pouted, "You didn't say hello as you walked in the door. That was rude." he mumbled, turning his head to look at John. John rolled his eyes, "Sorry love." he replied, making his way over to the chair.

Sherlock watched John intently as he squatted down in front of Sherlock. "I missed you." John murmured as he cupped one of Sherlocks cheeks in his palm. Sherlock fought back a smile, "You were only gone an hour." he retorted. John shook his head, "You're a sarcastic little shit." he mumbled, making Sherlock laugh. 

John smiled when Sherlock laughed. To him, it was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. "You love me though." Sherlock said as his laughter had subsided. "True, don't ever doubt my love either Mr. Holmes." John replied, giving Sherlocks nose a little tap. Sherlock smiled and reached up to grab Johns face in his hands. 

"Now's the time to kiss me, you know? In the movies after the-" Sherlock started, interrupted by Johns lips on his own. Usually when John were to kiss Sherlock, there was an end game, a plan on what would happen next. This kiss was soft, gentle, and unlike any kiss they had shared. Sure, kisses were addictive to the two. The way their lips fit perfectly together, the rush through their veins, and the weak knees were side effects of every time they kissed. But this time was much different than any kiss they had shared.

This time, it was like a wildfire began where their lips met and spread until it completely engulfed every cell in their bodies. This time, there was no set end game. There was no plan. Suddenly it seemed that they had been cut off from the world. The idea of death and cancer slipped their minds.

In that moment, it was just the two of them. In that moment it was only two people softly relishing in the love the other was willing to give.


	8. Don't Say That Again

Sherlock awoke entangled in Johns arms. The warmth of his bare back on Johns chest sent a wave of comfort through his veins. As he lay there, their limbs tangled together, he felt safe and protected. In that moment, there was nothing to care about.

Sunlight softly trickled through the thin fabric of the curtains. The light seemed to softly settle on every object, it was not harsh. He took a deep breath, the cool air of morning filling his lungs. Sherlock gently untangled his limbs from Johns before turning over to face him. 

When John was asleep, it was as if he was a child again. No worries, no fear, just peacefulness crossed his features. His lips were slightly open, his breaths coming out softly and shallowly. 

Sherlock lifted his fingers to Johns face, placing them gently on his forehead. Slowly and softly, he traced over every feature on Johns face. From eyelids to his nose to his lips. He felt a fire on his fingertips that only happened when contact was made between him and John. And it was addicting.

Once Sherlock finished tracing his features, he decided to wake John up. He leaned over and gently kissed Johns cheek. "John, wake up." he whispered, lips softly brushing against Johns ear. The only sort of reaction from John was a loud snore. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat up. "John, wake up." he whined, shaking Johns still body. John gave a low whine. "What do you want?" he groaned, rolling onto his back. Sherlock pushed one of Johns eyelids open, hoping to wake him up faster. All he got in response was a slap on the arm.

"Bloody get up already. I'm bored with watching you sleep." Sherlock whined, shaking John yet again. This time John opened one eye voluntarily. "Sherlock, I want nothing more than for you to not be bored, but I would like to sleep." he grumbled. Sherlock sighed and tugged the covers off Johns body. As soon as Johns bare skin hit the cool air, his fingers were struggling to grab the blanket from Sherlock. 

"Jesus Christ, if you're so desperate for me to get up at least make me some damn tea." John snapped. Sherlock smiled and wrapped himself in the blanket he stole off Johns body. He fell onto his side next to John, a goofy grin gracing his face. John refused to look at Sherlock. He was annoyed and fatigued since he was woken up a couple hours before he planned on waking up.

Sherlock just continued to grin, pleased with his behavior. He poked Johns arm softly, "Don't be mad. I woke you up so we could get breakfast before going to the hospital. Remember? I have an appointment at 11." he told John, hoping to soften him. John sighed and turned onto his side to look directly at Sherlock.

His eyes were warm and azure, like the water that licked the sand on a hot afternoon on a South American beach. They seemed to radiate apologies that had yet to tumble off his lips. "I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to get angry. You want to get breakfast at that little cafe down the street?" he asked, staring at Sherlock apologetically and wide-eyed. Sherlocks smile softened, "Alright, down the street. Be ready in 10?" John nodded, "Be ready in 10."

\------------------

30 minutes later they were seated outside in the crisp morning air drinking tea and smiling. It was like old times when things were much simpler than they were now. John made small talk as Sherlock watched the people, mainly small families and couples, walk by. "Do you ever stop and think that we can't ever be like that?" Sherlock asked, interrupting Johns sentence. John looked at Sherlock quizzically, "Like what?"

Sherlock pointed towards a couple who were hand in hand. The woman was holding a small child, no older than 3. The child had orange hair that shone brilliantly in the sun. The curls in her hair seemed to dance in the breeze. The parens looked at her like they were pirates who had finally found their long lost treasure.   
John sighed, his heart aching. "Everyday." he mumbled, staring at the couple sadly.

Sherlock bit his lip and looked down, "Me too. I feel like shit for it, as well." John turned back to Sherlock, his heart now empty of the previous happiness he had held onto only moments ago. "Sherlock, you listen to me," he started, reaching across to grab Sherlocks hands with his.

"Do not feel like shit for something you can't control. So we may never have a family. Do I want one? More than you could imagine, but it just so happens we can't have that happy little life."

"But the life we have is more than enough. I know we've been through this, numerous times in fact. You need to understand there's nobody I want to be with more. So get it out of your mind that you're shit or that you should feel like shit because we can't have this perfect life."

"And I get it, this idea of death is bringing you down. But if memory serves me right you were the one who told me not to waste away. That's what you're going to be doing if you don't change this mindset that everything has suddenly gone to shit! Because goddammit, it hasn't!" 

John felt a sudden pang of guilt for raising his voice, especially since the entire cafe was now staring. Sherlock retracted his hand from Johns and turned away from him. It suddenly felt like the entire world was crashing around him and there was nothing John could do from stopping it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who are reading, again! Just a couple things: 1) yes it appears Johns eye color ha changed (if you didn't notice that). Don't worry, its not an inaccuracy. 2) Please note that I'm writing Sherlock as I believe he would be. I personally think that with John his walls would crumble and he would be is emotional. So yeah.
> 
> But thanks again to all who are reading!!


	9. Death Is an Ugly Promised Truth

The two left breakfast in silence. The tension was thick and rested in the air like a dense fog. John hoped all of it would disappear once they sat down for the appointment.

Sherlock still refused to speak to John even as they sat and waited for the doctor to enter his office. The silence and tension from this morning grew to weight too much on Johns mind for his liking. "I'm sorry about my outburst this morning." he mumbled, eyes glued to his lap. Sherlock sighed, "No need to apologize, it's not your fault." 

John looked over at Sherlock. Sherlocks eyes were intently on his in a second. Ice stared down ocean, apologies, words never spoken, and truth spilling over in each. "Just don't let you waste away. Don't let sadness and death weigh you down. For not only my sake, but yours." John begged. Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes averting down to the floor. "I don't know if I can." he admitted in a shaky voice.

John reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. "Of course you can, you're the brave little detective after all." John replied, clasping his other hand around Sherlocks as well. Sherlock sniffled, a smile finally appearing on his face. "The brave little detective? Really?" he asked. John laughed, the sound wiping away any sadness and tension that clung to them. "Too sickly sweet?" he asked. Sherlock nodded and laughed, "You're such a sap."

The doctor didn't get into his office until almost 20 minutes after 11. Sherlock was impatient, causing him to be agitated once the doctor finally walked in. "Sorry about being late." he gushed as he opened the door to the office. John smiled, "No problem, as you can see we survived you being late." 

Sherlock scoffed while the doctor laughed. "Well, as you can see, you're doctor is no longer Mr. Johansen. My name is Richard Edwards. I'll be your doctor from now on." he told the two as he sat opposite of them. Sherlock gave an uncomfortable smile, "Can we go ahead and get to business? I'm afraid I'm awful busy this afternoon." he asked, already irritated with Edwards. 

Richard just smiled, "Sure. Let me just tell you, you're cancer is not curable." he replied, tone somewhat somber. John looked over at Sherlock, his hand reaching for one that rested in Sherlocks lap. "Now," Edwards started, opening Sherlocks file. John grabbed Sherlocks hand, twining their fingers together.

Edwards glanced over the papers, flipping through until he found what he needed. "As I was starting to say, treatment wise we don't have many options. The most we can do is radiation in hopes of making the tumors in your lungs shrink. There are two, both in your left lung. This means if radiation does not work, we will have to remove the entire lung."  
Sherlock swallowed thickly and squeezed Johns hand tighter. "Now, we can start radiation next week. We can do radiation for 2 months and see if there's any change. If there is not any positive change, we will have to schedule surgery. This means in the next 6 months you could have major surgery." Edwards continued, the news growing more and more dismal. To John, it felt as if he was in the middle of the ocean, a rock tied around his ankle, dragging him down in the lurid water. 

Sherlock felt no better. 

It was like ice had been injected into his veins. His heart violently clashed against his ribcage, his lungs were being squeezed of their air, and his mind was blank. Less than 6 months and he could be left with only one lung. 

"What will happen if I don't get treatment?" Sherlock asked, staring down the doctor. Richard sighed and looked down at the desk. "Honestly, you could be dead in 6 months." he solemnly answered. Sherlocks heart stopped. "How long could he live with treatment?" John asked. Richard looked up at him, eyes showing the smallest amount,of which John could sense, of pity. "He has a 10-23% chance to make it 5 years. But with his condition, I give him 20 months at the maximum."

Sherlocks entire body felt as though it was growing colder. His heart, which was violently beating before, was now like stone, cold and unmoving. His brain finally kicked into gear, but the only thing on his mind was what to do now. 

"My question, Dr. Edwards, is when can I um, start treatment?" Sherlock asked, voice quiet and shaking. Dr. Edwards smiled, "As soon as you'd like. Like I said earlier, next week is the best option." Sherlock gave a stiff nod, "Next week sounds perfect.

\--------------

The cab ride home, yet again, was dead silent. Neither knew what to say. Both were afraid that one word could send them spiraling back into the deep trench that threatened to swallow them whole. 

Once they arrived back at the flat, Sherlock ran off to the bedroom. John didn't dare follow him, he wanted to give Sherlock some alone time. Instead, he went off into the kitchen hoping a cuppa would help calm him.

With the kettle on and mug set on the counter, John finally let his mind be free. The wall he built in his mind to help him ignore the elephant in the room finally crumpled. Now every thought and emotion someone would feel normally surged through and entangled itself in every fiber of his being. One word repeated over and over again in his mind.  
Death.


	10. I Love You, Don't Forget That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient for me to update!! Sorry if it seems like I don't know the characters due to different behavior and if it seems like I'm repeating things. I promise things will be spiced up soon.
> 
> Spoiler alert: There will be sex next chapter. Sooo be prepared for terrible smut.

John left Sherlock alone for hours. It wasn't that he lacked concern for Sherlock, rather, he had no words left to say that he hadn't already said. There was no need to repeat words that Sherlock would not listen to.

Sherlock emerged from the room around dinner time. He looked nothing like his usual brooding self. His hair was disheveled, his eyes were red and puffy, and he wore nothing but the bed sheet.

"Why didn't you check on me?" he asked as he sat opposite of John. John noticed his voice sounded raw and gravelly. "I assumed you would have preferred being left alone for awhile." he admitted. Sherlocks frown grew, "You're only half right. I wanted your company because I felt and still feel like shit about this whole thing." Johns heart fell, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed anything." he mumbled. "When you assume it makes an ass out of you and me." Sherlock snapped.

John bit his lip, holding back every cuss word and insult that threatened to leave his lips. He didn't say anything, just let his eyes fall to the floor. Sherlock noticed and decided to pipe up. "Say it." he demanded, staring intently at John. John looked up, "Say what?" he asked, acting like there was nothing to say. Sherlock scoffed and shook his head, "Everything that was just on your mind. Insults, names, everything you want to say to me. Say it!" Sherlock shouted.

John shot out of his chair, "What do you want me to say?! Everything I wanna say could make you want to leave. I don't want you to leave though, dammit!" Johns voice echoed throughout the entire flat. It reverberated through empty cups, off plates, and off every wall. Sherlock was taken aback by his outburst. John rarely got this mad, at least, that Sherlock had seen.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. The news affected me too." John apologized. He slowly sank back into his chair, pulling his legs up onto the cushions with him. Sherlock stared off, not wanting to look at John. It made his heart and soul hurt thinking about causing pain to John.

Sherlock never believed he would feel bad for causing someone pain. That was before he met John. Suddenly there was this person that he cherished, loved, and cared deeply for. John broke down his walls and knew things about him that not even he knew. It was different and strange, but amazing at the same time. Sherlock even thought it was breathtaking and exhilarating.

Sherlock sighed and got off his chair. John watched him as he kneeled down by him. "I'm very sorry, John. I don't want to make you upset. My immediate reaction to someone is being rude. It's my survival mechanism. I'm only human, after all."

"But I love you. Remember that, all right? I mean, how can you forget? We are always reminding each other. But please, John, remember that I am trying. I'm trying to stay strong for you. It's all for you."  
Sherlock was nearly in tears as he finished apologizing. Tears were new. Before a week ago there had only been a time or two that he had cried. Now he felt like crying 24/7.

A tear fell out of Johns eye and slowly slid down his cheek. Sherlock wiped it away with his thumb, the salty drop now racing down his milky skin. John smiled and reached a hand out, letting it rest against Sherlocks cheek.

Sherlocks skin was pale and creamy, a stark contrast to Johns golden skin. If John had to make a comparison about the two of them it was that Sherlock was the moon and John the sun. The sun lit the moon, just like John lit Sherlocks life up in a bright, fiery manner.

"I love you, John." Sherlock murmured, nuzzling his face deeper into Johns palm. John let his other hand gently cup Sherlocks other cheek. The moon was now brighter than ever, the sun exploding in a magnificent brilliance that warmed the moon in the process.

"I love you so much, Sherlock. Don't forget that." John choked out, still fighting back his tears. Sherlock smiled, "I don't think I ever could, you wouldn't let me." John laughed and let his feet fall back onto the floor. He lowered his face closer to Sherlocks, letting their foreheads rest together.

They both sat there for a few minutes in silence. For that time it was just them. John knew silence and gently touching Sherlock, not in a sexual way mind you, relaxed him. Sherlock breathed deeply, letting the familiar smell of tea clinging to Johns breath, Johns soap, and fabric softener relax him further.

"You alright?" John whispered, breaking the silence. Sherlock let his eyes open, warm grey making his heart race. "Yeah, better actually." he replied. John smiled and leaned down, gently pressing his lips against Sherlocks. Sighs were caught in the back of both their throats.

John pulled away, taking Sherlocks hands and pulling them closer to his lips. John met Sherlocks eyes, the beautiful teal swirled with flecks of gold and green. His heart hammered against his chest as he began to gently kiss each fingertip.

With each kiss, fire flooded over Sherlocks skin. The fire seemed to leak through his skin and down deep, spreading until it flooded his nerves. Sherlock felt like he was on fire. A feeling he only got from one person; John.

Sherlock must have turned a deep shade of red because John was now staring at his cheeks. "You're blushing." John mumbled, gently letting his fingers touch the soft skin of Sherlocks cheeks. Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You know I blush occasionally." he retorted. John laughed, "Yeah, but it's a rare occasion."

  
Sherlock swatted Johns hand away, heat in his cheeks increasing. John forcefully, yet gently, grabbed Sherlocks chin and pushed his head up so their eyes met. "Don't swat me away now, dear. I only want to show you how much I love you." John growled, a raw and suggestive tone to his voice. Johns tone and words sent a heated flurry through Sherlocks stomach. Sherlock swallowed and took a deep breath, making sure his voice was stable. "Then show me just how much you love me."


	11. Suddenly So Humble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of updates!! I promise to do better!!
> 
> And I also apologize for the lack of smutty goodness. I feel awkward writing it....

John kept his grip on Sherlocks chin as he crashed their lips together. The kiss was rough and passionate. Teeth nipped at lips and tongues. Occasionally there was an awkward bump of teeth, causing both to gasp in surprise.

Sherlock grabbed Johns pants, fingers digging into the softened denim. He needed something to hang onto so he could keep balanced. Johns grip moved from Sherlocks chin to the thin, cool fabric of the sheet.

"Bedroom?" Sherlock asked, voice breathy and shaky. John shook his head, "Stay here." he murmured. John pulled his head back, eyes locking onto Sherlocks. He breathed a deep sigh and smiled. "You're beautiful, you know?" 

Sherlock felt a heat flash through his cheeks. "I guess so." he mumbled, breaking eye contact between the two. John lifted his fingers and gently traced over the features of Sherlocks face. He ran the calloused pads of his fingers over the lines in the pale expanse of his forehead before tracing down over his sharp cheekbones. He ended with his fingers tracing Sherlocks lips, the lips he loved kissing the most.

"Why don't you believe me?" John asked, voice filling the space between them. Sherlock grabbed Johns hand, pulling it away from his face. "I guess I've been trained not to believe anything that doesn't have definitive proof." he replied. John watched as Sherlock now took his turn running fingers over his skin. 

John grabbed Sherlocks fingers and stood from the floor, attempting to pull him up in the process. Sherlock looked at John quizzically, "Where are we going?" he asked. Once he was standing John dragged him towards the bedroom. "Where do you think we're going, knucklehead?" John replied sarcastically.

Sherlock shook his head but obediently followed John into the bedroom. With one hand John pushed Sherlock towards the bed, the other he used to shut the door. While he watched John shut the door, Sherlock sat down onto the edge of the mattress. After John had shut the door he made his way back over to Sherlock who sat wide eyed watching.

John smiled and cupped Sherlocks cheek in his hand, "So intelligent and not humble about it. But when it comes to me loving you, you get embarrassed and bashful? Why are you so humble about what I think of you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Sherlock averted his gaze, eyes wondering to another corner of the room. "I don't know." he replied. 

John shook his head and grabbed Sherlocks chin, pulling his eyes back to his. "Stop. Stop it. You irritate me so much with this sudden change in emotion. You've become shy, quiet, reserved much more than usual. Just stop and go back to being you." 

Sherlock felt his stomach drop. He quickly filtered through memories of the past few days, realizing the mistakes he had been making. "I am so, so, sorry, John." Sherlock said. John sighed, his features relaxing into a small smile. "How about," John started, moving to straddle Sherlocks thighs. "you show me just how sorry you are."

\--------------

Sherlock awoke the next day gasping for breath. Thankfully John had placed his inhaler on the bedside table the night before, saving Sherlock the trouble searching for it. He inhaled the medicine deeply, allowing his breathing to return back to normal.

Sherlock brushed the curls that obscured part of his vision as he turned to face Johns side of the bed. Instead of a snoring lump of warmth, Sherlock found cool, flat, and silent sheets. He sighed in irritation. "Break the promise for morning cuddles. Better have made me some damn tea." he grumbled. 

He shuffled slowly through the flat, the chill of the morning making him move slow. Continuing to grumble beneath his breath, Sherlock entered the kitchen. Instead of a mug of tea sitting on the counter, which Sherlock had hoped there would be, there was a note and a suit on its hanger.

"What the hell?" he said as he grabbed the note on the counter. _Good morning, love! Hope you slept well. I apologize for leaving early but I had to go get our day started. You hopefully won't see me until this evening. Follow the clues, they'll tell you where I'll be. I love you, John_.

Sherlock sighed, his anger dissipating. "Well," he started, grabbing the hook of the hanger. "I guess it's time to get the day started."


End file.
